我需要一篇3分钟左右的关于一名言的英语演讲稿,请不要有语法错误(高中...
发布网友
发布时间：2024-07-13 04:41
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热心网友
时间：2024-07-30 08:24
This is famous quote of English poet Percy Bysshe Shelley. It means that when winter is approaching, everything is dying. But the spring season is also ahead.
In the world, everything goes in cycles. Winter and spring, day and night, life and death, happiness and sorrow, success and failure, the list can go on and on. By knowing this, we always should keep hoping for the better, especially in the bad situations. When we fail on an exam, or we loose a lover, when we feel low and grey, we should think about this words. Hardships can be overcome, failures can be turned into success. Things from worse eventually become better. When we try very hard to achieve but still can see any hope, we should believe that when we fall to the bottom, the only way to go is up.
Winter is very cold, the tree lost all the leaves and flowers are all dead. But this is not the end, it is a new beginning. After a period of silence and lonely wait, the tress will come back to life and the flowers will bloom. The birds will sing and the bees and butterflies will come as well. The spring comes, you don’t have to invite it, and there is no doubt. This is a promise, which is given by the nature.
【楼主】雪莱的名言，“如果冬天来了，春天还会远吗”，若觉得满意，望多多支持哈！！！
热心网友
时间：2024-07-30 08:20
Human Life a Poem
I think that, from a biological standpoint, human life almost reads like a poem. It has its own rhythm and beat, its internal cycles of growth and decay. It begins with innocent childhood, followed by awkward adolescence trying awkwardly to adapt itself to mature society, with its young passions and follies, its ideals and ambitions; then it reaches a manhood of intense activities, profiting from experience and learning more about society and human nature; at middle age, there is a slight easing of tension, a mellowing of character like the ripening of fruit or the mellowing of good wine, and the gradual acquiring of a more tolerant, more cynical and at the same time a kindlier view of life; then In the sunset of our life, the endocrine glands decrease their activity, and if we have a true philosophy of old age and have ordered our life pattern according to it, it is for us the age of peace and security and leisure and contentment; finally, life flickers out and one goes into eternal sleep, never to wake up again.
One should be able to sense the beauty of this rhythm of life, to appreciate, as we do in grand symphonies, its main theme, its strains of conflict and the final resolution. The movements of these cycles are very much the same in a normal life, but the music must be provided by the individual himself. In some souls, the discordant note becomes harsher and harsher and finally overwhelms or submerges the main melody. Sometimes the discordant note gains so much power that the music can no longer go on, and the individual shoots himself with a pistol or jump into a river. But that is because his original leitmotif has been hopelessly over-showed through the lack of a good self-education. Otherwise the normal human life runs to its normal end in kind of dignified movement and procession. There are sometimes in many of us too many staccatos or impetuosos, and because the tempo is wrong, the music is not pleasing to the ear; we might have more of the grand rhythm and majestic tempo o the Ganges, flowing slowly and eternally into the sea.
No one can say that life with childhood, manhood and old age is not a beautiful arrangement; the day has its morning, noon and sunset, and the year has its seasons, and it is good that it is so. There is no good or bad in life, except what is good according to its own season. And if we take this biological view of life and try to live according to the seasons, no one but a conceited fool or an impossible idealist can deny that human life can be lived like a poem. Shakespeare has expressed this idea more graphically in his passage about the seven stages of life, and a good many Chinese writers have said about the same thing. It is curious that Shakespeare was never very religious, or very much concerned with religion. I think this was his greatness; he took human life largely as it was, and intruded himself as little upon the general scheme of things as he did upon the characters of his plays. Shakespeare was like Nature itself, and that is the greatest compliment we can pay to a writer or thinker. He merely lived, observed life and went away.
